


work, bitch

by wyverning



Series: kinktober 2020 [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Bartender!Erik, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Oblivious Erik, Overuse of italics, horny nicky, let them have lighthearted problems and fall in love, shameless flirting, sort of cracky, stripper!nicky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverning/pseuds/wyverning
Summary: Five times Nicky fails to ask Erik out, and one time he (inadvertantly) succeeds.
Relationships: Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose
Series: kinktober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946149
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	work, bitch

**Author's Note:**

> day 2: frottage | **stripping** | aphrodisiacs | chastity devices
> 
> somehow, i have managed to write a kinktober fic without any actual sex, just the mere constant mention of it? not entirely sure what this is, but i blame eli for inspiring this sort-of crack. anyway, we need more nicky/erik. i'll give them the smutty sequel they deserve sometime this month

**1.**

This is the worst day of Nicky’s life.

Nicky says that approximately three times a week, but this time he _means_ it. Erik Klose, in all of his tall, strong, blond glory, is going to be the end of him.

He lets out an aggravated noise — just one, sharp and loud, before turning his full attention toward picking an outfit for the evening. Would Erik be more impressed by heels or thigh-high boots? Both? Nicky’s pretty sure he has a hot pair of lace-ups _somewhere_ in his dressing room that would work, but he’s supposed to be on-stage in an hour and isn’t sure he could find them with enough time to get makeup on, too.

It really should be easier to impress someone when you’re a stripper, but Erik is a different breed.

Settling on a glittery top that falls _just_ right on his collarbones and a tight pair of booty shorts, Nicky figures he can just wear pleasers for tonight. Maybe tomorrow he’ll dig out the thigh-highs — add a little variety.

It’s a Thursday night, which means that business won’t be _booming._ It’s the perfect opportunity for Nicky to subtly spy on Eden’s newest bartender, an implant directly from Germany with a jawline that could put Henry Cavill to shame. He’s hot enough and tall enough that he could get a modeling gig if he wanted, and Nicky has every intention of snatching him off the market before anyone else gets any ideas. He’d noticed Roland eyeing Erik on Tuesday, Erik’s first day on the job, and felt a feral instinct to fight the other stripper.

Now that he thinks about it, It’d probably get them a good haul for the night. Sometimes their clients like to see them get a little catty. Hmm…

But that’s beside the point. Nicky wants to impress Erik until he’s impressing _himself_ against Nicky in sweaty, compromising positions. He knows he’s hot, knows that his pole work and dancing are enough to help pay off Aaron’s loans and put a roof over their heads, so he just has to work that angle. He dusts some glitter onto his neck and chest, knowing the spotlights will hit them just right and make them glisten tantalizingly.

He wants to show Erik that here in America, at the most popular gay club in Columbia, he’s something to be desired.

“Are you single?” Nicky asks after his set is over and he’s chugged a metric shitton of water. Hydration is no joke, especially not with his evening plans; he’s hoping Erik will keep him up all night until they’re both dehydrated from _other_ activities.

Erik’s brow furrows for a second. Nicky’s starting to recognize this look, which means Erik’s doing some on-the-fly translating in his head.

Huh. Maybe Nicky should start learning German. That’d be sexy, right, and show his dedication to Erik and his probably- _very_ -proportional appendages?

“Oh,” Erik says. “Like dating? No, I came here alone. I want to enjoy the, how do you say… freedom of starting a new journey.”

Nicky flashes him a grin before biting his lip in a way that he _knows_ looks sultry and alluring. “Well, if that isn’t the best news I’ve heard all night. When do you get off? Of work, I mean. I’d like to be there for the other answer to that question.”

He even throws in a wink. God, Nicky’s laying it on thick and _perfect._ There’s no way Erik will fail to pick up what he’s putting down.

“Two,” Erik responds. “You’re done for the night, yes? You should get out of here while you still can; you look exhausted.”

Or, apparently, there’s every way Erik will fail to pick up what he’s putting down.

It’s possible, Nicky thinks as he sulks all the way back to his dressing room to change out into comfy sweats, that he overestimated Erik’s ability to pick up on innuendo. Subtlety just isn’t going to cut it.

* * *

**2.**

_hey, are you dtf?_

Nicky stares at the text message so long that the words don’t even seem like real words anymore. It’s a stupid idea, but the only one Aaron had managed to come up with after rudely interrupting Nicky’s very-necessary moping.

 _Just be direct,_ Aaron had said snidely, as though being direct had ever actually worked for him. (Nicky’s pretty sure Katelyn just fell into his lap, or that she's an alien clone that Aaron lucked out into wrangling.)

Every other minute, Nicky vacillates between this being _the best idea ever_ and _absolute dogshit, delete the message and throw your phone into the garbage disposal._

Maybe a picture would be better? Wait, no. Nicky’s heard enough people complaining about receiving unsolicited nudes, and at least _asking_ Erik before opening the sexting door would eliminate any consent problems. What if Erik isn’t even _gay?_ He’d specifically ought out a gay bar, had heard him talking about it to one of the other bartenders the other day, but what if it’s a weird fetish thing? What if he’d laugh in Nicky’s face after being propositioned?

Fuck.

Nicky doesn’t know what to do.

He’s desperate to be fucked, but it’s the kind of itch that a random hook-up won’t scratch. No, his stupid, gay little brain has decided that the only dick he wants is Erik fucking Klose's, and he's always been a stubborn one.

Propositioning someone you see four times a week via text message _does_ seem a bit sleazy. Nicky deletes the text, then pulls up a selfie he and Erik had taken after they’d both earned a few hundred bucks in tips the other night, jerks off to too-blue eyes and bulging muscles, and ends up feeling gross, anyway.

* * *

**3.**

This is it. This is the best Nicky’s got.

He’s wearing a nipply pasty. One single pasty, glittery and dark and in the shape of a heart. He doesn’t know how to make it more obvious, given that he’s completely naked otherwise, and had shot Erik a text asking him to bring a lemon drop to his dressing room pre-show. 

“Hey,” Erik says, martini glass in hand as he shoulders the door open. It takes him a moment to notice Nicky’s very careful, borderline-obscene posing, and then he says, “Oh, I’m sorry,” and shuts the door before turning away, toward the wall. Like he’s trying to give Nicky some semblance of privacy.

Nicky barely suppresses the urge to scream. 

“It’s fine if you look,” he purrs, compartmentalizing the instant rejection. “I don’t mind.” _In fact, I’d prefer if it was all you did._

Erik clears his throat before turning and fixing his gaze on Nicky’s face. He doesn’t even _bother_ looking below Nicky’s chin, which is either the saddest rejection or the world or the greatest display of willpower Nicky’s ever witnessed. “Wow!” he says. “American strippers are so forward. It’s much different in Germany.”

“It’s the lack of shame,” Nicky says, shifting poses to more prominently display his… package. Even having Erik this close is doing wonders for his libido, and they’re both alone, in the same room, and it would be _so_ easy for Nicky to pretend to trip in his heels and tumble into Erik’s arms, hot and willing and already naked…

“Well,” Erik says, still avoiding looking at anything but Nicky’s facial features. “I should get back to the bar. Do you need any help getting ready? Is that why you asked me to come?”

There’s not even a hint of arousal in Erik’s voice. He seems entirely focused on helping Nicky, but in all of the wrong ways. Before this moment, he hadn’t been sure it was even possible for someone to miss the blatant invitation of Nicky’s bare skin, but apparently there’s a first for everything.

His half-hard dick flags. “Nope,” he says, injecting as much cheer into it as he can possibly manage even as his stomach sinks. “Thanks for the drink! I can take it from here.”

* * *

**4.**

Maybe the problem, Nicky thinks, is that he keeps hitting on Erik while they’re at work. It’s clear that Erik doesn’t view him as a sexually-available person when they’re on the job. There must be some sort of disconnect in his brain: watching Nicky wind around a pole and dance to bass-thumping music doesn’t trigger that funky little hormone that perceives him as something to be wanted.

Maybe the solution, Nicky thinks, is that they’ve both ended up in this Starbucks together at the same time, totally by coincidence. Maybe the fates _aren’t_ mocking him, and this is the perfect opportunity to chat him up like a normal human being, and _maybe_ they can head back to Nicky’s place after getting some much-needed caffeine. 

“Erik! It’s nice to see you in natural lighting for once,” Nicky says as he approaches the line that Erik’s waiting in. Erik's dressed in a henley and dark, tight-fitting jeans, and Nicky could just about drool.

“Nicky,” Erik greets him with a grin that’s huge and real and stunning and sends a flutter through Nicky’s stomach. Oh, to hear him say Nicky’s name like that when they’re fucking…

“I see that you… like coffee,” Nicky says. Which: what the fuck. What kind of conversation-starter is that? This is The Conversation. The Opportunity to Get Erik Into His Pants. And he starts with _You like coffee?_

“Um,” Erik says, looking sheepishly around the coffee shop. “Yes, I think most people do?”

“That’s so funny,” Nicky says with a giggle, even as mortification settles in. What the fuck is wrong with him? How is it that he can exude sexy energy in the lap of a middle-aged businessman while indecently dressed, but the moment he’s in the daylight he turns into a fucking disaster?

It’s the easiest thing in the world to say: _Would you want to maybe get coffee with_ me _sometime?_

Still, Nicky chokes out the words three times, and instead of coherently asking Erik out on a coffee date, manages to splutter out something like, “Wow! What if we got a drink now together like, you know, we were getting coffee?”

Erik looks at him bizarrely. “Aren’t we doing that right now?”

Nicky stares at the glass paneling of the walls around him and envisions smashing his head against them so hard that they shatter, killing him instantly.

“Well, yes,” he says, giving up on whatever the hell his brain has decided to do today. It’s a total loss. He’ll have to burn these clothes, get a new identity, and leave the country immediately. “We are.”

* * *

**5.**

Erik’s always occupied while Nicky’s dancing, which is why he’s cashed in a few favors and made sure that he’s in the middle of his set when Erik finally takes his break. If Erik’s not distracted by work, maybe he’ll finally get the chance to turn his full attention to Nicky while he’s on-stage and fall in love with how skilled he is.

And being scantily clad, wearing the lace-up boots he’d finally found along with a tight leather get-up, certainly won’t hurt.

It’s a routine that Nicky’s well-versed with, one that makes him feel confident and sexy and like he could step on the men throwing dollar bills at him. He'd created it after a night of binge-watching Britney music videos and it's clearly inspired by her bold, fearless approach to the world. The routine has a lot of twisting and lunging and Nicky arching his spine like he's in the throes of passion. When he gets really into it, slipping hands down his body like all he needs is to be touched and fucked senseless, he never feels more powerful.

At the end of it, Nicky’s a sweating, heart-pounding mess, but he feels a purr of satisfaction when he sees Erik sitting at a nearby table, eyes on him.

He turns, offers a spicy wink and sticks his ass out before touching the ground and sliding his way back up into a standing position. And Erik — Erik, who’d watch his entire dance, gives him a very Americanized broad smile and a fucking _thumb’s up._

Nicky very nearly stumbles as he makes his way off stage, but he’s _pretty fucking sure_ that a thumb’s up isn’t the equivalent to _oh, we should fuck immediately._

* * *

**+1.**

“Okay,” Nicky says, staring at himself in the mirror. His eyeliner is flawless, winged and accenting the green shimmer on his lids. He looks the best he ever has — even Kevin had managed a text message that was more than two syllables in response to his selfie — and the makeup feels like armor. Something to enhance his appearance and convince himself (and Erik) that he's desirable. “You can do this.”

He’s going to kiss Erik. Flirting, putting his body on display, and basically throwing himself at the blond all haven’t worked, but that’s okay. Germans have different social expectations. Surely if Nicky’s more forward he’ll succeed.

He’s got this.

“Hey,” Erik says as Nicky approaches the bar. It’s early, which means there are only a few people lingering about. “Everything okay?”

The thing was, Nicky had a _plan._ He was going to march right up to Erik, grab him by the sexily-pressed collar of his shirt, tug him in close, and kiss him until they were both babbling messes. 

It was a good plan. A flawless one, if not entirely thought-through.

But the moment Nicky hears the words, _Everything okay?_ Some stupid part of his brain answers with _Absolutely not, I’m handling this rejection about as well as my parents took me coming out_ , and he does the most attractive thing he could possibly do: he bursts into tears.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Nicky hears Erik saying frantically, and then a warm hand smooths over the bare skin of his arm and he’s being tugged out of the public area of the club and into the corridors that lead into the dancers’ private rooms.

Nicky goes along with it, desperately trying to wipe away his tears without smearing his makeup — a lost fucking cause — and then they’re in hisdressing room, where it's quiet and just the two of them and Nicky's fucking _crying._

“Sorry,” he says after a minute. “Sorry. I just have a lot going on.”

“No need to apologize,” Erik says softly. “Anything I can do to help?”

 _Want me,_ Nicky thinks. His throat feels thick and uncomfortable, and he takes a deep breath. Okay, so there was one slip-up. But he’s stopped crying, and he won’t do it again.

Erik frowns at him. “Have I upset you?”

Nicky’s mood is a pendulum, swinging out of control. Erik was supposed to be a conquest, a way to get a cock up his ass and kissed senselessly, but instead, he _likes_ the guy, and it’s clear that Erik doesn’t like him back, or else he would have done something the first time Nicky hit on him. He feels the sorrow from his crying outburst wither up and die at the words, though, and then is struck with the manic sort of desperation that comes with a final Hail Mary.

Aloud, he says, shrilly, “I’ve been stretching my own asshole every night for the past _month_ in the hopes that each day would finally be the day you’d rail me, and at this point, I don’t even know what to do to get you to go out with me! If you don’t like me, you can just say so so I stop looking like an idiot!”

Erik’s face does a series of complicated expressions: first there’s surprise, which is quickly overtaken by something complex that involves a furrowed brow and his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and then finally he settles on something that looks like confused happiness.

Wait.

What?

“A date?” Erik says, his accent catching on the words in a way that inexplicably sends heat running down Nicky’s spine. “That’s what you want?”

“Yes!” Nicky bursts out, throwing his hands up in the air. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted! Well — a lot _more_ than just a date, preferably, but you’re either the most oblivious person in the world, or _super_ uninterested in me, which would be _fine,_ but—”

“Nicky,” Erik interrupts him. Between one heartbeat and the next, he’s crowding Nicky up against the wall, broad shoulders casting a shadow over Nicky’s own. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Oh,” Nicky breathes. From this distance, he’s at the perfect height to stare directly at Erik’s lips — honestly, it’s like they were _made_ for dicksucking, plush and full and pink — and he does exactly that. “Want to go on a date?”

Erik murmurs, “Thought you’d never ask,” and then he’s kissing Nicky so soundly that he can’t do anything but melt into the strong, muscled arms that are suddenly wrapped around him. 

Nicky loses himself in the kiss, the heat of Erik's mouth a perfect counterpoint to the wet slide of their tongues and teeth. It's the sudden, startling realization of what they're finally doing that shocks Nicky into pulling away.

“Wait, what the _fuck_? It was that easy?” he asks incredulously. "Everything I did, and _this_ is what worked for you?"

“Well,” Erik says, pressing his forehead against Nicky’s, and _oh,_ Nicky melts into it. “You’re really cute, even if sometimes you act weird. What’s up with that, anyway?”

“That—“ Nicky sputters. “I was _flirting!”_

“Is that what you Americans call it?” Erik asks, swooping in for another kiss. “I thought you were just a… very forward dancer. For the money. You’ll have to teach me more about your ways.”

“Yes,” Nicky agrees vehemently. “There’s all the time in the world for that. But right now, I’m going to need you to do less talking and more _touching._ ”

And, _oh,_ Erik’s hands and mouth are perfect for the job.

**Author's Note:**

> please come shitpost with me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/wyverning)


End file.
